Terraces

Spitballs against the brick walls and flipping playing cards in the backyards of some time back then, between the factory and the clocking in there was a world out there waiting until the pithead led us down aways through the tunnels where the coal face looked grim. We grew up to throw out our dreams…

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Elevenpence ha’penny

Redacted constricted contracted restricted. We are all being closed down it’s a drop out a cop out and we are the objective. We the collective disintegrate under the mighty weight of the state. Machinery? We are the cogs in obscenity but does it bother me? I am a tree growing wild and think I’m free…

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